


Hartsick

by forpuckssake



Series: Heart to Hart [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen, Sickfic, and by very i mean blink and you'll miss it, brief appearance by everyone's least favorite nhl commissioner, but they also want to be his favorite, spies doing domestic things, spy AU, tk and patty and ivan just want their buddy to be okay, very slight brioux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-08 03:45:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17973842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forpuckssake/pseuds/forpuckssake
Summary: The Commissioner pays a visit, Carter gets sick, Claude has a bit of a crisis, and a serious conversation is had in a bathroom.Everyone involved is certain that they aren't paid enough to deal with any of these things.





	Hartsick

**Author's Note:**

> asdfghjkl thank you to everyone who read and commented last time! i'm glad people seem to like this because i have well over fifteen thousand words for this stupid series lmao. i'm gonna try and stick to like a monthly or bi-monthly schedule until i have this series finished but i am also a college student full-time and i work so we'll see how that goes.
> 
> this one is another gen fic, but like i said, i'm a sucker for brioux and those disaster boys tk and patty.
> 
> also, this one has some relevant plot for future fics?? go me
> 
> i don't think there are any warnings for this one but if you think one should be added please let me know and i will do so!

“Ah, yes,” Travis declared when he walked into the office that morning. “A perfectly cloudy and rainy day. The worst possible weather to announce the arrival of the worst possible human being.”

“I didn’t know Sidney Crosby was coming to pay us a visit,” Ivan said, his tongue poking out between his teeth.

Travis plopped into his chair, shaking his hair like a wet dog. “He’s not. Sidney Crosby might be, like, a demon, but this man is the _actual_ Devil.”

“Oh yeah?” Carter asked, not even looking up from the report he was writing. “And who would that be?”

“The one, the only—”

“Stop being so dramatic,” Nolan interrupted. To Carter, he said, “It’s Gary Bettman.”

Travis gave him the one finger salute. “You take the fun out of literally everything,” he said, scowling. Nolan shrugged in response.

Carter, however, had no clue who they were talking about. “Who’s Gary Bettman?” he asked, looking up.

“Oh, you know, just the most awful person ever,” Ivan said nonchalantly. “It’s not like TK had this long, whimsical monologue prepared to tell you.”

“Yeah, and I wasn’t even half finished before Patty over there—”

“Ahem.”

All four of them looked up at Danny, who was peering down at them in their seats with a quirked brow. “Don’t you have better things to do than gossip and bicker?”

“Carter and I definitely do,” Ivan responded. “Patty and TK, on the other hand—”

“Rude.”

Danny rolled his eyes as they delved back into bickering. To Carter, he asked, “Did you go see Oskar?”

“Yeah, I saw him before I came up. He told me to take it easy and drink more water, take Pepto if it gets out of hand. Y’know, typical stuff.”

The bickering ceased immediately, and all three of the other young members of the team were suddenly fixated on Carter like they were ready to attack.

“Are you sick?” Travis demanded.

“Why are you here if you’re sick?” Ivan asked next.

“I’m not sick,” Carter said firmly. “I just had a bit of a stomach thing. Nothing, like, life-threatening or anything. It’s not even a bug.”

“… Sure,” Nolan said slowly. To Danny, he said, “Can we send him home?”

“If he’s not sick, I can’t make him leave,” Danny said with a shrug. “Besides, Commissioner Bettman is coming today. If he finds out that Carter isn’t here, we might have a problem.”

“Carter doesn’t _really_ need to meet that slimeball,” Travis said. Danny stared pointedly at him. “I mean, the _lovely_ Commissioner.”

Danny let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s just passing through with Claude and Director Hextall. He probably won’t even talk to you guys.”

Carter shrugged and looked back down to his report. If Danny didn’t think there was anything to worry about, then Carter certainly had no reason to be concerned either.

 

* * *

 

Danny, as it turns out, was not always correct.

Working in the office wasn’t nearly as boring as Carter had expected when he first arrived to work with the Flyers. Although the people around him were teammates all doing their own research and writing reports, there was usually a steady stream of conversation all around unless someone had a very important assignment that required quiet and concentration.

So when the bickering and chattering abruptly cut off, Carter looked up to see what was going on.

Claude stood by the elevator with a rather short older man. Carter could only assume that the man was Commissioner Bettman, since everyone around him seemed to grow tense.

Commissioner Bettman swept the room with his eyes, and Carter didn’t look down in time to avoid their gazes from meeting. Bettman’s eyes were blue and calculating, like he was looking for the best way to break someone down piece by piece.

He finally looked away from Carter and said something to Claude, whose jaw clenched just the slightest bit. He nodded and, with Bettman in tow, started making his way to Carter’s desk.

“Carter,” Claude said when they stopped in front of him. “This is Commissioner Bettman. Commissioner, this is our newest Quartermaster, Carter Hart.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hart,” Bettman said with a false smile, holding out his hand. Carter stood and shook it, trying to repress a shudder at the cold touch.

“Likewise, Commissioner,” Carter replied, withdrawing his hand.

“I hear you’ve been a wonderful addition to the Flyers,” Bettman went on. “Are you enjoying working with them so far?”

“Yes, everyone is really nice and good at what they do,” Carter replied diplomatically. It was none of Bettman’s business how he felt about his teammates, and he found it odd that he was the only one being questioned while Travis, Nolan, Ivan, and several others sat around in silence, pretending to do work but obviously listening with rapt attention.

“Good, I’m glad to hear it,” Bettman said with a wry smile, and Carter found that he was extremely unnerved by the look in his eyes. It felt like the Commissioner was staring into the deepest recesses of his mind. “I do hope that you last a lot longer than the other Quartermasters for the Flyers. It’s a shame what happened to them, really.”

Carter didn’t know if he was reaching in thinking that Bettman’s words sounded a bit threatening or if they really were as creepy as he had interpreted.

He still had no clue what had happened to the other Quartermasters, and he didn’t think it was his place to ask Neuvy or Stolie what kind of things they had been through when they were the go-to Quartermasters. They were both quiet and withdrawn which, as far as Carter knew, they hadn’t been like before his arrival. He almost didn’t want to know what had happened for them to decide that being a full time Quartermaster wasn’t for them, but when other people brought it up, he couldn’t help but find that he was just a little curious.

“Yes, I’ve heard,” Carter said awkwardly.

“Have you finished your report?” Claude asked lightly, abruptly jumping into the conversation. “Mr. Briere wants it on his desk by noon.”

Claude never called Danny that and he knew that Carter was not under a time crunch, but he was grateful for the out when it presented itself.

“No, not yet. I’ll get right on it.” He forced a smile for Bettman. “It was nice to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise,” the Commissioner replied. “Good luck. I expect I’ll be seeing more of you in the future, Mr. Hart.”

 _I certainly hope not_ , Carter thought but didn’t say. “Have a good day,” he said, and then promptly sat down to stare at his report until both the Commissioner and Claude walked away.

Travis and Nolan wheeled their chairs to be beside him, and Ivan stood to lean against his desk.

“That was the most awkward thing I have ever seen in my entire life,” Travis said. "Which is saying a lot, 'cause I've watched these two dumbasses try to flirt and that's _painful_."

“It was far more awkward to experience it, I promise,” Carter snorted over both Nolan and Ivan cursing at Travis.

“It was hella sketchy in general,” Travis said. “I didn’t like how he brought up our other Q’s. He made it sound like you were on some kind of hit list or something.”

Carter was a little tired of feeling like that, too. “Well, _am_ I? No one has told me anything, and if there’s something I should be on the lookout for I’d like to know.”

Travis looked away quickly, and silence was his only response. Ivan pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“To be completely honest, we don’t know why those things were happening with our Quartermasters,” he admitted quietly. “It seemed like bad luck at first, but you’re our seventh Quartermaster this year. It seems less and less coincidental as time goes on.”

“Way to be reassuring,” Nolan said flatly.

“It’s the truth, at least. No one else is talking to him about it,” Ivan said defensively. To Carter, he added, “And, to be fair, no one has really said anything to us, either. One second we have a Q, and the next they’re either retiring or taking a long-term break or—”

“Dead, yes, I know,” Carter said hollowly. “That’s great.”

“We’d never let anything happen to you, you know,” Travis said firmly. “You’re _ours_ , Hartsy.”

“As cute as this is, can we get back to work? This bromance stuff is distracting,” Sean piped up dryly from where he was seated across the room.

“Don’t be jealous just because Hartsy likes us better than you, Coots,” Travis shot back. "We're obviously his favorites."

“Not true,” Carter said. “Claude is my favorite.”

“He’s the Captain,” Travis said dismissively. “He doesn’t count.”

“Danny is my second favorite.”

“You’re damn lucky I like you, Hartsy, ‘cause you’re on thin fucking ice,” Travis warned.

“It’s okay, Hartsy,” Wayne added from his desk next to Sean’s. “I’ll beat him up for you if he tries anything.”

Travis looked _actually_ offended. “I would _never_.”

More bickering broke out, this time among everyone in the office rather than just Travis, Nolan, and Ivan.

Carter groaned and sank into his chair. It was moments like this one that made him wonder why he liked working with the rambunctious members of the Flyers.

“Don’t you all have work to do?” Carter demanded.

“Yes, Hartsy,” Jake piped up. “Am doing work. Defending your honor from TK.”

“You just want to be his third favorite,” Travis accused.

Jake shrugged. “Third, fourth, doesn’t matter. More favorite than _you_.”

Travis squawked indignantly and Carter couldn’t help but cackle. Nolan shook his head, glancing to Carter.

“You started this,” he said.

“I definitely _didn’t_ , but isn’t it funny?”

“…Yeah, it is. I’m third favorite, right?”

“Just for that you’ve been bumped to the bottom.”

“I _knew_ I was third! Suck it, TK!”

 

* * *

 

Carter started to feel a little like he was dying at around noon. He tried very discreetly to move one of the trashcans closer to his desk, but Michael Raffl noticed as he was walking by.

“Are you okay, Hartsy?” he asked, frowning. “You’re looking a little pale.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Raff,” Carter replied, knowing that his friends were now listening to every word. It was like they had radar for any time he might be in distress. “Just feeling a little nauseous, is all.”

Raff’s frown deepened, and he swiped Carter’s water bottle off of his desk. “Need more water,” he mumbled in his thick accent, marching away quickly.

“I thought you said you weren’t sick,” Ivan said, glaring.

“I’m not, I just don’t feel good,” Carter defended. “Not feeling my best doesn’t mean I’m automatically sick.”

“But it _could_. You should go home.”

“I’ve got work to do.”

“It can wait, can’t it?” Nolan asked. “Unless you really _do_ need to turn in that report soon.”

“I mean, I _do_ , but I’m done with it. I was about to take it to Danny.”

“And _then_ you’ll go home, right?” Travis asked.

“No, TK, I’m not going home,” Carter tried to say patiently. “I have to do some research for our mission later this week.”

Raff appeared a moment later, Carter’s full water bottle within his grasp. “Should go home,” he said sagely.

Carter groaned. “I’m _fine_ ,” he said exasperatedly.

“Don’t make me call Danny,” Travis threatened.

“He already said you can’t force me to go home if I’m not sick.”

“If he asked you nicely, you would do it. You know for a fact that you can’t say no to Danny. Or G.” Travis turned to Ivan and Nolan. “If we tell G, he’ll _definitely_ make Carter go home.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“I bet he would,” Ivan said thoughtfully. “You’re, like, his child. He feels responsible for your well-being.”

"Definitely," Travis agreed. "I thought for certain he was gonna punch the Bettman in the face on your behalf, so it wouldn't surprise me if went into Dad Mode and forced you to go home."

“Claude isn’t old enough to be my dad, thanks,” Carter said, rolling his eyes. “Also, I’m an adult capable of making my own decisions. I know when I’m sick, trust me, and I’m _not_ sick.”

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Carter was changing his tune.

“Okay, I’m sick,” he croaked, clutching at the wastebasket that he had just released his lunch into.

“We had no idea,” Nolan said dryly.

“We can brag about being right when he’s not throwing up into a trashcan,” Travis said. “Hey, Ivan, can you run down and ask Lindy for a puke bag? I’m gonna let G know that I’m driving Carter home.”

Carter opened his mouth to protest, but Jake had appeared and was shoving his water bottle toward his face. “If you say you are fine, I will make sure G sits you for a solid week.”

So he said nothing, grumbling quietly as he took the water bottle and took careful sips.

Ivan returned with a plastic bag at the same time Travis did with Claude in tow.

“Why didn’t you say you were sick?” Claude demanded, frowning.

“I _wasn’t_ ,” Carter replied defensively. “I just didn’t feel well. I didn’t feel like I was going to be _actually_ sick until, like, half an hour ago.”

“Oh, Hartsy,” Jake sighed, shaking his head. He looked to Travis. “What is it you always say?”

“Mess," he offered pleasantly.

“Yes. Hartsy, you are a mess.”

“You’re not wrong,” Carter agreed, feeling his stomach roll unpleasantly. “I’m also going to throw up again.”

They all looked away at his warning, and Carter did exactly what he said he was going to.

“Okay, let’s get you home,” Claude said when Carter was done gagging.

He felt his eyes watering as he coughed and tried to breathe normally again. “Yeah, okay.”

He opened his desk drawer and reached for his car keys, but Travis got to them first and snatched them right from his grasp. He then placed them in Claude’s open hand.

“You’re _not_ driving yourself,” Claude snorted. Travis nodded sternly from his side.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You said that all morning, and yet here we are,” Ivan piped up in the most tattle-tale way.

“Come on,” Claude said before Carter could contemplate murder.

 

* * *

 

It was an awkward and silent drive.

“You know,” Claude finally said when they were only five minutes away from home. “If you’re feeling sick, you’re allowed to leave work.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“We’ve got a mission in a few days and I have research to do for it. I don’t want to have to sit it out.”

“We’ll see how you feel tomorrow,” Claude placated. “Besides, your health is more important than the mission, Carter. You’re our top Q, and if you push yourself until you’re sick for days, we’re fucked.”

“You wouldn’t even _need_ me as your top Q if the other six were okay,” Carter muttered.

He knew in a split second that he had said something wrong when he saw Claude’s knuckles go white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel.

“I’m sorry,” Carter said guiltily. “That was out of line.”

“Yes and no,” Claude agreed calmly. His hands returned to a normal color as he eased up on his grip of the steering wheel. “It’s kind of delicate for those of us that were involved with the previous six, but I can understand why it would bother you.”

“I just—everyone is so cryptic about what happened,” Carter sighed. “And the Commissioner was so ominous about it, like it was only a matter of time before I ended up like your previous Q’s.”

“Bettman is a creep,” Claude agreed. “And I get that we’ve all been quiet about what happened, but most of us have signed a nondisclosure agreement about the entire situation. We don’t say anything because we _can’t_.”

“That’s… odd.”

“Believe me, I know,” Claude agreed. He hesitated. “But just because we signed an agreement not to talk about it doesn’t mean _you_ can’t go looking for information.”

“That’s also very cryptic, Claude.”

They had arrived at the apartment complex, and Claude was silent as he focused on parking. He wasn’t very good at it, regardless of his driving experience. Once he had put the car in park, he turned to Carter, his expression grave.

“Listen,” he said firmly. “I won’t tell you. I can’t tell you. In fact, I don’t want you to know anything about it because it will only freak you out or make you upset.” He ran a hand through his hair and let out a shaky sigh. “But you don’t strike me as the type to leave things alone if they bother you.”

“You’re not wrong,” Carter said quietly.

Claude nodded. “We—the team—we can’t talk about what happened. But you’re not banned from the files, Carter. In fact, as Q, you have access to every single one of them.”

Carter nodded slowly. “That’s good to know,” he said.

Claude shrugged. “Do what you will with that information. But please, _please_ take this into consideration: I would rather you not look at those files.”

“I will take it into consideration,” Carter parroted back. It wasn’t an agreement or disagreement, and Claude didn’t appear to be overly enthused by the response. “Why did you tell me if you didn’t want me to go looking, anyway? I wouldn’t have known I had access unless you said something.”

Claude shrugged. “I’m not in the habit of lying to my team. If you had found out about the files and I hadn’t told you, could you honestly say you wouldn’t be mad?”

No, Carter could not see himself being anything other than royally pissed off at having information hidden from him on purpose.

“I’d still rather you not look, though,” Claude said again. “Trust me, you’re better off not knowing.”

Carter nodded slowly. “Okay. I won’t.” Claude had trusted him enough to tell him that he could look if he wanted to, and maybe Carter would change his mind in the future, but for now he was content to demonstrate the same amount of trust in his Captain that he was being shown.

They made their way into the apartment, Claude disappearing into the kitchen while Carter trudged to his room and quickly changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt before burrowing under his covers like he intended to hibernate for the winter.

He was just starting to drift off to sleep a few minutes later when he heard a knock on the door, and Claude stepped into the room.

Carter squinted one eye open and watched as Claude set a bottle of water and Gatorade on the nightstand alongside a small package of saltine crackers. He then dragged the trashcan from by the small desk to be at Carter’s bedside.

“I have to head back to the office for a while,” Claude said, and he sounded almost regretful. “But call me if you need anything.”

“’Kay,” Carter mumbled, shoving his face further into his pillow.

He mumbled something else, something he wasn’t even fully awake to comprehend. He thought he might have heart Claude make some kind of choking noise in reply, but he was already too far gone in sleep to think about it.

 

* * *

 

Danny was organizing his papers to head home for the evening when Claude barged into his office, his face set in an expression of distress. He had brief flashbacks to the last time Claude had come into his office looking like this, both of his wrists mangled and swelling and—

He had to push the images away and focus on the situation at hand. “What happened?” he said, trying to remain calm as he stood. “Are you okay?”

“He called me dad!” Claude wailed, flopping dramatically into the chair across from Danny’s desk. “I’m too young to be a dad.”

Danny felt all tension drain from his body as he sat back down in his own chair, relieved. He'd rather deal with Claude being an over dramatic mess than in actual distress.  “Claude, you’re in your thirties. You could definitely be a dad.”

“ _Early_ thirties, thank you very much,” Claude sniffed huffily. “And yeah, you’re not wrong, but I’m too young to be a dad to a twenty-year-old!”

Danny briefly wondered when working with spies had become less serious like the movies portrayed and more entertaining. “I’m not going to argue with you there,” he agreed slowly. “So why are you freaking out about being called dad? Who called you that?”

“Carter did,” Claude whined. “I brought him Gatorade and water and crackers and, yeah, he was half out of it, but he said _thanks Dad_ and then knocked the fuck out. He’s only been here for, like, three months. Why am I so attached to this stupid kid?”

Danny couldn’t help it. He laughed. He laughed so loud and for so long that his eyes watered and his stomach started to hurt before he finally calmed down long enough to look at Claude, who had the most betrayed look on his face.

“You don’t _really_ think he’s a stupid kid,” Danny said once he had calmed down, trying to catch his breath. Sometimes, laughing required more effort than a full marathon.

“No, of course, not,” Claude huffed. “In fact, I’d probably punch anyone for saying shit like that to him. And that’s the _problem_.”

“I don’t see a problem here, but okay.”

“It’s a problem because he’s—” Claude cut himself off, frowning. “He’s a Q, Danny, and you and I both know Director Hextall can’t manage our Q’s for shit.”

“Yeah, I’m well aware,” Danny agreed. “But we’re not going to let that happen to Carter. And I’m still not seeing the problem with him calling you his dad.”

“I think I’m freaking out because I’m realizing that I’m in my thirties and unmarried with someone else’s kid living in my guestroom and he called me Dad.” He groaned buried his face in his hands. “It’s a problem because it feels _normal_. Like, having some kid living in my apartment is _normal_ for me now.”

“Okay,” Danny said slowly. “That happens sometimes, Claude. Did you ever accidentally call your teacher _Mom_ when you were a kid?"

"That's a bit different. I was _maybe_ six, not an adult."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Maybe I’m stupid, but I’m still not seeing the problem, Claude. Carter’s a good kid. It’s not abnormal to want to make sure he’s okay, especially since you were the one who took him under your wing when you knew he would have been set up in a hotel or something.”

“He wouldn’t have ended up in a hotel. If I hadn’t offered my room, you would have.”

Danny shrugged. Claude wasn’t wrong—it had been something Danny had done on many occasions before, with Claude himself, with Sean. He wouldn’t hesitate to offer his house up again for someone who needed it.

“As true as that is, I think it’s a little different,” Danny said wryly. “I already had three kids to worry about when you and Sean were there.”

“Yeah, but like—you didn’t treat _me_ like I was one of your kids.”

“Because it wasn’t like that with us,” Danny said with a shrug. “We were friends before you moved in, and we were friends after, too.”

It probably also didn’t help that everyone they knew started ribbing on them for being married and for Claude being the step-parent, but it was better not to bring that kind of thing up. It did funny things to Danny’s heart, and he really, _really_ didn’t need that.

“I just—I realized, when Carter said that,” Claude murmured. “I realized that’s something I want. To be a dad.”

“Okay,” Danny said cautiously.

“And I just don’t see that happening with me.”

“Oh, Claude,” Danny sighed. “Don’t say that. There’s still plenty of time for you to find someone and have a kid. It’s not like you’re under a time crunch or anything. It’ll happen.”

“… Yeah, okay.” Claude stood abruptly. “Sorry for bothering you.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “You’re never a bother, Claude.”

Claude forced a smile. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” Danny replied. “Text me and let me know how he’s feeling later?”

“Yeah, of course.”

 

* * *

 

When Claude returned to his apartment, he knocked quietly on Carter’s door. A muffled groan let him know that it was safe to enter, so he did.

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, the hall light the only bit of brightness in the room from where it leaked in from the open door.

“Shitty,” Carter croaked. His face was half squished into his pillow, the exact way it had been when Claude had left earlier that afternoon. “I ate some of the crackers and had some of the Gatorade and managed to lose both.”

Claude winced. “Okay. Try some of the water and I’ll grab you some toast and see if I have any ginger ale.”

“You don’t have to do that, Claude,” Carter said.

“I don’t have to do a lot of things,” Claude agreed sagely, and went to make the toast anyway.

He returned a few minutes later, toast and ginger ale in hand. In the time he was gone, Carter had managed to flick on the light on the bedside table and prop himself up so that he was leaning against the headboard.

His hair stuck up in every direction possible and he squinted at Claude like he couldn’t quite see him clearly. His cheeks were flushed, and Claude couldn’t help himself from placing the toast down in Carter’s lap and then feeling his forehead.

“I don’t have a fever,” Carter told him. “I checked.”

Claude was unconvinced. “You look pretty flushed, kid, and you’re feeling a little warm.”

“I’m sick and I’ve been under blankets for hours,” he said dryly.

Claude rolled his eyes. “Eat your toast, you ingrate.”

Carter cracked a small smile, and Claude turned away to find something for himself.

“Hey, Claude?” He turned, and Carter’s smile grew just a little bit more. “Thank you.”

Claude smiled back, nodding. “Anytime, kid.”

 

* * *

 

Somehow, Carter managed to keep the toast and ginger ale down. He even got up the strength to crawl out of bed with his covers and make his way to the couch where Claude was sitting watching _The Bachelor_.

“I didn’t take you for the reality TV type,” Carter mumbled, huddling into the arm of the couch on his side. In the months he had been living with Claude, he had never walked in on him watching _The Bachelor_.

“It’s a good break from everything else,” Claude said with a shrug. “Have you tried watching any spy movies lately? It’s so difficult to not want to criticize everything.”

“True,” Carter agreed with a shrug, settling down to watch two girls scream at each other.

Claude’s phone buzzed about half-way through the episode, and he rolled his eyes when he checked the text that came in. “Danny wants to know that you’re not dying,” he said, looking over to Carter.

“I’m not dying,” Carter confirmed with a small nod. “Yet.”

“I’m leaving out that last part,” Claude snorted, typing back a reply with a fond smile. Carter briefly wondered if the smile was directed at him or at the text being sent off to Danny.

He didn’t stay awake long enough to see the last part of the episode because he had fallen asleep with fifteen minutes left to go, and he only woke up when Claude gently shook his shoulder.

“You should probably head back to your room,” he said quietly. “This couch is great for naps, but you definitely don’t want to spend all night on it.”

“Okay,” Carter murmured sleepily, forcing himself to stand and shuffle back to his room. He felt a million times better, and for the first time all day he didn’t feel like he was about to throw up. He was still tired, though, and face-planted into his bed as soon as he had clicked off the light.

 

* * *

 

“It lives!” Travis crowed.

The afternoon before had been rough for Carter, but after a night of fitful sleep and no throwing up whatsoever, he had woken feeling much more energized than he had in a long time.

That hadn’t stopped Claude from shoving a grocery bag of saltines and Gatorade at him as they made their way out the door, though.

“Unfortunate,” Nolan agreed solemnly, but he had perked up from his usual slouch, so Carter was fairly certain he was glad to see him.

Carter rolled his eyes as he sat down at his desk. “It must have been a twenty-four-hour thing. I felt totally fine this morning.”

“Fine as in _completely better_ or fine as in _I’m still sick but once again trying to hide it_?” Travis asked, glaring.

“The first one,” Carter promised. “I really am fine. Claude probably wouldn’t have let me leave this morning if he thought I was still sick.”

“True. Mama Bear Mode is strong in him,” Travis said sagely.

“He’s scarier than a mother bear,” Ivan said.

Nolan snorted. “He’s a big ol’ softie.”

Wayne was walking by their desks, and he snorted at what he heard. “Don’t let G hear you say that,” he warned as he drifted by.

“He doesn’t exactly scare me,” Travis snorted.

“Oh?”

The voice was completely new, coming from the other side of their cluster of desks from where their backs were turned. They all turned quickly and found Claude standing there, eyebrows raised. Danny stood at his side, lips pursed as he tried not to laugh.

“You know,” Claude began, “Bears that can’t take care of their cubs will kill them.”

They were silent for a moment.

“Interesting,” Ivan finally squeaked.

“He’s saying we should be scared of him,” Nolan offered unhelpfully.

“Not me,” Travis said. “I’m your favorite. Aren’t I, G?”

Carter groaned. “Please don’t start this shit again.”

Claude laughed, shaking his head at their antics. “Yes, please get some _actual_ work done, boys.”

“Hey, we are!” Travis protested. “I even turned in my report on time yesterday.”

“Wow, that’s a first,” Carter said.

“Shut it, Hartsy,” Travis snapped, but there was no real bite to his words. “Some of us have other things to do than write reports.”

“Dude, you can’t even say that,” Nolan piped up. “You definitely skipped out on firearms training yesterday because G wasn’t here. What _other things_ do you have to _do_?”

Travis looked genuinely offended at having been called out. “Wow. Patty, you’re such a—”

“ _Work_ ,” Claude said, loudly and pointedly.

“On it,” Travis said, immediately rolling his chair back to his desk. Ivan and Nolan were quick to do the same. Carter couldn’t help but snicker quietly.

Claude leaned over his desk. “You still feeling okay?” he asked, his voice low so he wouldn’t draw the attention back to them.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Claude raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You said that yesterday, too.”

Carter rolled his eyes. “I promise I’ll let you know if I’m feeling sick again.”

Claude nodded, satisfied. “Good. Try and gather as much intel as you can today—Danny wants to make sure we brief tomorrow.”

“I’ll have it done before tomorrow,” Carter promised.

 

* * *

 

“You okay, man?”

Carter looked up from the bathroom sink where he was washing his hands. Nolan had just come in quietly, hovering by the door and frowning at him. Carter would be weirded out if it were anyone else, but the concerned line between Nolan’s eyebrows had him worried.

“Yeah, I told you guys I’m not—”

“I’m not talking about you being sick. I’m talking about Bettman.”

 “Why are you asking about Bettman?” Carter asked hesitantly. No one had said anything since the Commissioner had left the day before.

Nolan’s frown deepened. “Something just didn’t sit right with me with how he was talking to you yesterday. He made it seem like you were, like, on death row or something.”

“Or something,” Carter agreed faintly. “Yeah, I have no clue what that was about. G—he told me that I could look into what happened if I really wanted to, but he said he’d prefer if I didn’t.”

“Did he say why?” Nolan asked curiously.

“He said it would freak me out,” Carter replied.

Nolan nodded in agreement. “It probably would.”

“Wow, that makes me feel so much better. Thanks.”

Nolan grimaced. “Sorry, but it’s the truth. I just—why does it seem like everyone knows about it? I get that Bettman knows because he’s the Commissioner, but even the _Penguins_ knew. They shouldn’t have had access to that kind of information.”

Carter nodded along. He had thought the same thing when they had last crossed paths with the Penguins and the girl that was working with them, Taylor, had warned him to get out while he still could.

_They have a bad habit of unfortunate things happening to their Q’s, and unless you want to be next, I suggest you get out of there._

“So you think Bettman—”

“Yeah, I think—I think there’s definitely something going on.”

“And you followed me into the _bathroom_ to say that?”

“Well, I can’t exactly say it out there in the office—that shit’s wired, for sure.”

Carter hummed in acknowledgement, and Nolan continued on.

“I’m just concerned, is all. I don’t like it when creepy old men say sketchy things like that, and I don’t like that it sounded like a threat. I especially don’t like that the Penguins somehow know about our past Q’s and how the only place they could have gotten that kind of information would be directly from the source itself.”

Carter couldn’t deny thinking the same thing, but it wasn’t his place to say anything about it. After the disaster of a mission months ago where Nolan had been captured by the Penguins in exchange for the Flyer’s target, the only things talked about in the debriefing were what to do in order to get to the suppliers of Daniels’s operations since they no longer had access to him for information.

“So you think I should take a look at the files, then?”

“I dunno, man,” Nolan sighed. “I don’t know what to do, if I’m being honest. We definitely need to do _something_ , though, ‘cause he wasn’t wrong in saying you’d be next if the same shit happens again like it did before.”

“… Dude, I just had the best idea.”

“What?”

“The best way to find out how the Penguins knew is from the source itself.”

“Don’t fucking say—”

“We’re going to contact the Penguins.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
